Delhi to Dehradun

Absolutely insane day yesterday, demolished entirely by today. Today: We awoke at 5:15 in order to catch our train at 6:45. The taxis should have been here at 6:00, to be loaded and departed by 6:05. Only three of us were truly ready by 6:05, so there was that. Aided multiple people in bringing bags down. The taxis didn't arrive at the hotel till 6:25. Madness ensued. After loading our bags--did I mention that the monsoons started today--our taxis broke all traffic laws to get to the station. Speed, signs, avoiding collision: more suggestions than anything else. Arriving at the station, Indra, the god of rain, bestowed his blessings upon us. The skies opened up with our doors as we descended into a calf-level puddle. As we got out of the taxis and the rain started to pour, random porters came and just took our bags away. Rather shocking if you're not prepared for it, and even then... I held on to my bags. Our situation was worsened by our total lack of info. Brinda was in another car and, though she told us our train, it was some long thing in Hindi. I couldn't bloody remember it. So when 50 yelling porters asked us what train we were on, we had no idea. Brinda apparently broke less traffic laws than we did. Being the poor sheep that we are, we blindly followed the porterse who were carrying our bags on their heads. Totally no clue where we were going, even though once in a while they would just start running, as if our non-existent train were leaving. Brinda soon showed up, smiling. Apparently having your bags semi-stolen and being herded are normal occurrences in India. "Oh, this is the coach." Up (way up, weirdly--a little difficult with a big suitcase on your back), and in. It's packed. Nowhere to sit, nowhere to stow our bags. I pictured myself standing for five hours on the way to Dehradun. Some Hindi rang out in a lovely womans voice from the back of the train and the porters started grabbing our bags again ("No, thank you, I'm taking my own bag." "I take bag?" "No." "Bag?" "No." "Theekai?"), heading off the train. It filters up our 8 person-strong line that we're on the wrong coach, C1 instead of C3 or some such thing. Off the train, again, herded like unholy cows by men we couldn't understand. Yelling, yelling, rain and uneven shafts of light littering down onto the platform, hand gestures, more yelling. I think there's a Hind word that's something like "Ahna" or something meaning "Move your ass, stupid American," because that's what they were thinking and thus that's what they chanted, a tattered, red-clad Hindu chorus. We finally made it on the train, having lost non of our bags (Amazing! What a country!). Now we're sipping decent tea in the air conditioning and all this seems funny.

Sidenote: I'd always thought that, when presented with it, I'd like sitar music. I'd find it interesting somehow. Perhaps, with time, that may be true. But right now the irregular clanging of maddeningly disharmonic notes on the shitty speakers is giving me a sensation something akin to classic road rage. Thank God for the iPod.

Yesterday - June 18th, 2004 So the goal yesterday (the 18th) was two-fold: buy things we needed and see our respective colleges (Lady Shri Ram and St. Stephen?s are on opposite sides of Delhi: 40 minute drive assuming little traffic... which means about an hour and ten minutes...). Before that we were to have lunch with Rudy and Sumar at this trendy new place called "Mocha." Mocha is the slightly stale, corporate edition of what Akbar?s Harem must have looked like. The tables were all low, as were the lights, and we sat on plush silk-covered pillows. We were in a VIP-looking remote corner, silk sheets hung from the rafters to act as semi-opaque, exotic doorways. Unnervingly out-of-place American Pop and Eurotrash House thumped on the stereo. Trendy, indeed. We starts with bottled water and a main course. I had an excellent Country Roasted Chicken Panini. But the desserts were the main attraction. Desserts: ::Cr�me Brul�e ::Lava lava - Melted butter, hot dark chocolate and oil in a coffee mug ::Between the Sheets - Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream mixed w/ toffee, between chocolate covered cookies ::Jamaican Blue Mountain Cappuccino Cake ::Plus 2 hookaks: apricot and strawberry. I didn't partake. I've given up drinking while I'm here (exempting, of course, October--those in the know will know why and, yes, I'm working on a Thirsty McShady). I want to see/remember what an alcohol-less life is like. Interesting, if nothing else. Healthy, most probably. I mean I'm in a country that values renunciation (just look at the deification of Sonia Gandhi), so why not do my part and go a bit native? So, despite the fact that half of my ancestors are probably spinning with impressive revolution in their graves, I didn't have Irish coffee at Mocha yesterday, or beers later when we were watching the football. Yes, football. A bit addictive, actually and, in certain circumstances, beautiful to watch. Talented players are like artists making a fine carving of the field and their opponents. And, come on, Zenadine Zedane is just a badass name. Shopping was crazy, Delhi-crazy. We went all over Delhi looking for, of all things, surge protectors. I ended up going in on some speakers with my flatmates. We split them 5 ways, so it was 260 Rs per person. Around 6 bucks. That's a dollar a month for what will be a well-used luxury. But power! My laptop and iPod are finally fully charged. We almost kissed the guy that finally had them for us. Hotness. Speaking of hot, it was oppressive yesterday. The monsoon today cooled things down, thankfully. But it was not just hot but so muggy that all items of clothing stuck to all proximate parts of our bodies. Chafing going on in unfun places. Welcome to Delhi.

There was a woman who came begging to our car on the way through New Delhi. She wore a dirt and red colored sari, and her shawl was fluttering around her stretched, thin face. She had sad, sad eyes, brown, a deep brown like rich soil. Her teeth were few and far between, and her jaw was perceptibly askew. She held out one open hand, a flower clutched between thumb and forefinger. The other arm ended in a bruised, pus and blood-leaking wound. Her legs were twigs wrapped in cotton against the wind. She stared at me in my $180 sunglasses, $1100 watch, $150 hiking boots, silver ring, and asked for small change through the glass. I have always prided myself on having a bit of eye-power, being able to meet anyones gaze. I withered under her weak, pleading assault. I could not meet her eyes. The car was completely silent. I don?t think I?ve ever felt as ashamed of the blessings I've been given. I won?t ever forget it.

Delhi is massive. It just keeps going, straining under its 11 million inhabitants. We drove in our car for an hour north, through relatively smoothly moving traffic, to get to St. Stephen's. We passed the India gate and the huge governmental buildings. I say huge because I've already used massive in this paragraph. Note to self: find better synonyms for use on truly massive things. These buildings, though, they were so imposing. You felt so small--which was of course the object of their design. Other would probably say they felt powerless, but my ego won't quite let me. :) St. Stephen's is perfectly Indian. The furniture is sparsely furnished with wooden chairs and big slate chalk-boards. The grounds are fully of greenery (though I admit in the Delhi heat they look a bit brown--apparently after the monsoons they bounce back), including a massive cricket/football field and random itinerant wildlife.

Sidenote: everyone here says football when referring to soccer. It?s so overwhelming (there's a billion of'em!) that I'm just going to go with it. Deal. When American football season starts, I'll work out some way of delineating the two. Stephen's is going to be a highly competitive program, and I think that's exactly what I need. I'm psyched for it. If my productivity since coming to India can be sustained (I don't see why not: I haven't been making an effort or anything, it's just sort of happened), then that shouldn't be a problem.

The poverty in this country is overwhelming. It just stretches on and on to all points of the horizon. I just don't know what would be required to raise the standard of living. Forced secondary education, at least, probably, for starters. Clean energy. Better infrastructure overall, come to think of it. Less corruption in government. Better civil society. Less vertical reliance. That'd be a start. But that's just it. I keep thinking of the caterpillar who, when asked what foot to move first, never moved again. I guess education and corruption are the two most gateway issues. They affect so much. So I guess you concentrate there. Once you have a clean, well-ordered government, you can start really fixing the infrastructure. With better communication, better access to education, civil society will start to right itself and expand and reverse the vertical alignment of Indian society. That's probably how I'd start to go about it. This Indian music is terrible. Valhalla So we went to St. Stephen's, looked around, then went to the apartment. Good Lord. My buddy Rob said it best: "This is the nicest apartment we're going to live in until we're 35." First, the complex is guarded by a 24-hour a day security team with shotguns. They looked comfortably imposing. Once past the big, motorized, wrought iron security gate, the newly paved road slopes down to the 30-ft high, pike-topped eastern wall. On your left are the gardens with grassy paths, bisected by a concrete walkway leading to the building itself. The gardens are awash in exotic-looking flowers of which I am currently totally ignorant. I'm sure in the months to come I'll be able to update you on that. They're gorgeous, trust me. There's no proper door to the building because, really, after the shotguns, why would you bother? There's just a staircase that leads up to the apartments. We're on the third floor, out of four. The fourth floor is the roof, but that deserves its own description. Upon opening the door to our apartment, you?re immediately struck by the enormity of our living/dining room. It's easily half-again as big as my living/dining room at home. Off the living room to the left is the first of four separate balconies. From this balcony, the view to the east is of a temple built around 1000 years ago (we're researching the details here, more to follow). Beyond the temple is the greenness of Delhi. Delhi is actually one of the greenest capital cities in the world. From what I've seen, I believe it. The only problem is that it's also one of the worlds most dirt-colored capitol cities... but who's counting that stat? Regardless, all you can see to the eastern horizon is trees and the occasional bigger than average building. Back inside, straight ahead from the entrance door is the dining table and the first of three bedrooms. This one was under construction at the time we visited (why? No one tells us). In the northeast corner, to the right of the room under construction, is a sizable bookshelf and the second bedroom. It's almost the length of my bedroom at home, with most of the width (but no slanted ceilings). There are two beds, two desks, two surge protectors (!), and one private bathroom. The bathroom is nicely sized. As long as it was bigger than chez Madam Mercier in Nice, I was going to be happy. The shower has a semi-sunken basin, which is sort of cool. So you step in and you're feet are below the level of the floor by about a foot. It's an odd-looking thing, but... exotic? Am I overusing that particular adjective? Anyway... The balcony off this room has views of the park close to the complex to the Northwest and Delhi's green down the hill to the east. The bedroom next to this is largely the same, but with an even more sunken tub/basin. Next to this bedroom is the kitchen, complete with stove oven, microwave, fridge, tons of cupboards, and a gleaming new white paint job. Gorgeous. It really is an unbelievable apartment. If we can get some DSL going on there, my life will be complete. The apartment is about 10 minutes to St. Stephen's by Auto-rickshaw. Apparently we need to learn to haggle with them over prices. That'll be fun. Speaking of haggling, I want to join the debate society at St. Stephen's. Cat will join with me, she says. It'll be cool. I need to flex and grow those muscles better and more often. The Roof Oh my God. One floor up from us is the roof. It's a huge flat terrace with two sides. The view is nearly panoramic (the building directly to the east blocks much of that direction, but that's up the hill anyway, so we wouldn't be able to see much anyway). You can see the tops of the great white government buildings in New Delhi, as well as part of the top of the Red Fort... no words... And that's just at night! Beautiful. Just beautiful. It totally changed my perspective on how I was going to be living in Delhi. Movies/pictures soon to follow as soon as I'm back in civilization. What a damn good day. Note: This post was post-dated to June 19th, because that's when it was written. I'm finally online here in the mountains, so more should be forthcoming.